


Artistic Intent

by restlesswriting



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pianist, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, I tried a new style again, Injury, Inspired by Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso | Your lie in April, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers, and by that i mean loosely inspired, baby!joong, famous!hwa, for like a teensy section, he ages up, it might have a few mistakes, pianist!joong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlesswriting/pseuds/restlesswriting
Summary: A world of black and white. That’s all musical genius Kim Hongjoong knows. He lived and breathed for the piano, the keys and the music sheet. What he lacked in heart, he made up for in precision, like a perfectly tuned metronome.And it worked. For a little. Until the system broke, until he broke.He had officially retired from the scene, his name all but forgotten. And yet, violinist Park Seonhgwa’s quite insistent on making a collab work.(Violinist Park Seonghwa shows washed up piano prodigy Hongjoong that there’s not only one fixed way to approaching music, and their worlds start to colour beautifully.)
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 20
Kudos: 135





	Artistic Intent

**White**

Kim Hongjoong’s first memory was of the piano.

Or rather, of his mother playing the piano.

It was by all means a pleasant one to come back to, the delightful music of Kreisler’s Liebesfreud (though he’d only find out about the name of the piece much later) drawing him in. 

“Omma?” Hongjoong asked quietly from the doorway, where he’d been standing, fully entranced.

“Hongjoong!” His mother exclaimed, startled. She jumped up from where she’d been seated in front of the piano, white blouse and skirt flapping lightly as she bustled to him. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Hongjoong squeaked. Despite the verbal confirmation, she still knelt in front of him and gave him a once-over. “Omma, stop!” 

He squirmed out of her grasp and pointed to the piano. “What is that?”

“Oh, honey,” she cooed and clasped his tiny hands in her own, drawing him close to the instrument. “This is the piano.”

“P… iano?” He asked, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.

“Yes, baby,” his mother sat back down on the bench, pulling him into her lap. “Do you want to try playing a couple of notes?”

“N… otes?” He looked up curiously at his mother. Pressed this close to her, cocooned in her warm embrace with the familiar scent of fabric softener tickling his nose, Hongjoong felt content, enough to let go of his initial goal of asking his mother if she could take him to the park for a stroll.

She stretched out one of his chubby fingers and pressed it on the key. Hongjoong jumped at the sound, whimpering. “Shh,” she shushed him. “It’s okay, that’s what we call a note.” She let go of his hand to play him a short jingle. “And when you play all the keys, we get a beautiful melody.”

“Mel… ody,” he struggled, short tongue making it no easier to pronounce complex words.

“Correct!” She beamed down at him, kissing the crown of his head. “You’re so smart. My smart boy.”

Hongjoong babbled happily, pleased that he’d been praised. “Omma, again!”

“Sure, baby,” she acquiescenced, hands flying across the piano like a seasoned professional. He stared at her, transfixed and unbelievably enchanted by the mellifluous sounds coming from this strange piano.

As the last notes faded away, he can’t help but crave for more. He looked at his mother pleadingly. “Did you like the piece?” She asked, looking into his round and childlike eyes. The wonder in them was answer enough. “Do you want to learn how to play?”

“Play?” He asked, tilting his head. Normally, he would have jumped at the chance, but he’s more interested in sitting still today, if it meant that he got more pretty sounds.

As if reading his mind, his mother chuckled. “No, not playing at a park or your Lego. I meant playing the piano, making _music_.” She ran her fingers experimentally over the keys, stopping when Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically.

“Pwetty.” He shot his mother a toothy grin.

She chuckled and corrected him. “Not pwetty. Pretty.”

“Pwetty?” She shook her head. He tried again. “Pre… tty.”

“Yes! Do you think that the music is pretty, Joongie?” She asked, booping his nose with one finger. He giggled in agreement. “Do you want to learn how to play the piano?”

“Play!” He squealed, clapping his hands together. “Play! Play!”

“Alright, alright! Here.” His mother reclaimed his hand and guided him to a key. The note, high and resonant, cuts through the summer air, but this time, Hongjoong doesn’t flinch away. “This is C.” 

She carefully pressed their fingers on another, and another, and even though the meanings of it all went over his head and out his ear, he recognised the familiar tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

Not the same as whatever his mother had been playing before. “No!” Hongjoong whined.

“No?” His mother paused in her teaching.

“No. Want omma,” Hongjoong turned to face her, not above using the power of his pout to get what he wanted. “To play other one?” 

His mother laughed, the gentle sound carrying its own special musicality, and ruffled his hair playfully. “That’s a little bit tough for you right now - let’s take baby steps, huh?”

“Noooo,” Hongjoong protested, the complaint ringing loud in the quiet of their living room. The only other movement was the billowing of the white curtains, disturbed by a breeze.

“Joongie, one day, okay? If you practice hard enough, starting from the basics, I promise -” Hongjoong’s eyes snapped to his mother’s at that. “You will get there. You will learn to play beautiful pieces, masterfully. Maybe you’ll even make a name for yourself, or compose your own.”

He quietened down at her words. Although he doesn’t understand much of what’s being said, his mother’s kindly tone acted like a balm, soothing and calming him down. “Pwomise?”

“Promise. Do you want to seal it?” She smiled, the barest hint of crow’s feet showing, and held out her pinky.

Hongjoong blinked once, faintly registering the fact that his mother was waiting on him, then hooked his own, smaller finger, on hers and stamped on it. 

“There’s my good boy. Now, shall we take it from the top?” She turned her attention back on the piano, which Hongjoong mirrored. The whites of the keys popping out in stark contrast against the black of the piano, as if like a beacon calling out to him, a treasure that he’s been looking for all this time.

In fact, it’s all he sees - it’s so bright that it dazzles in his eyes, blinding almost, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it. Not when his mother is pressed up against his back, anchoring him. 

He thumbs on the keys this time, and though the sound it produces is far from pleasant, it feels like coming home.

And that’s how his first memory ends, the white, white, whiteness of it all bleeding into each other, creating a moment that should feel wintry, but isn’t... just frozen in time.

* * *

But that was then.

Several years have passed and, slowly, but surely, the pure white love started to tinge with streaks of grey.

* * *

**Black**

To say that Kim Hongjoong mastered the piano would be a gross understatement. 

He’s gotten so adept at it, that he’s starting to keep the beat of a metronome. Flawless. Sound. Pristine perfect.

It’s what the judges love to hear, a textbook performance, and it always, _always,_ puts him in the first position when he’s competing, to the point that they’re touting him as the “next musical genius of his lifetime”.

He should feel accomplished, but all he feels is a huge pile of nothing, and maybe it shows in his sound, for even when he’s showered in praises, he had plenty of naysayers and detractors as well: “He’s faultless, but the music doesn’t _move_ the heart.”

“Hey, hey,” Yunho greeted, slinging an arm across his shoulder. The classroom was devoid of life, and the setting sun casting an orange glow all around them. “You’re overthinking again, aren’t you? No, don’t even try denying it, you brows were all furrowed.”

Hongjoong shrugged, thumbing listlessly at his phone to replay Liebesleid. For the hundredth time, as if he hadn’t learned it by rote. “I have a competition this weekend, just stressed is all.”

“Well, those old fogeys love you, and you’ve been listening to that all day,” Yunho gestured at the door. “How about we play a round of catch before we lose the sun for real?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Yunho,” he sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “You know why I can’t.”

“Well, it’s just a round, your mother wouldn’t even have to find out!” Yunho begged, holding out his index finger as if it’d make all the difference in the world.

Hongjoong raised his eyebrow. “And if I get injured, what then?”

Yunho snorted, the sound ugly. “The chances of that happening are actually pretty damn slim. “Come on,” he straightened up, arm falling away from where it’d been perched on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Don’t make me put you in a fireman’s carry all the way to the field.”

“Yunho…” Hongjoong clambered out of his seat, backpack in hand, much to his friend’s surprise. “I’m going home, don’t need to get all excited.” At Yunho’s betrayed pout, Hongjoong holds up his hands in surrender. “Next time okay? When there’s no competition.”

“That’s a flimsy lie, and you know it,” Yunho griped, leading Hongjoong out of the classroom after he’d gathered his own stuff. “You always have competitions or an important performance. Uh,” Yunho whipped around, eyes wide. “Not that I’m blaming you, of course.”

Hongjoong chuckled, the laugh devoid of real joy. “I know.”

A few minutes passed in silence as the duo meandered through the hallways, the shadows now more pronounced. Hongjoong gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter, heart rate picking up, not in anticipation, but in fearful dread, at the thought of going home.

“Hey, Hongjoong,” Yunho called. Hongjoong hummed in response to let his friend know he was paying attention, keeping the tendrils of ice in his veins at bay for a moment. “Do you love it? The piano, I mean.”

Hongjoong paused in step, right foot hovering above the ground. Did he truly love playing? He thinks he did once, perhaps. A long, long time ago when the experience was untainted by expectations and an overbearing mother.

Funny how time can warp the perception, and turn someone into a stranger all at once.

“I might have, at one point,” Hongjoong smiled ruefully, resuming his lazy trail after Yunho. “But now… I’m not so sure.” They turned to the right, and stopped for a moment at the entryway, Hongjoong afraid to say goodbye, Yunho afraid to let him go.

“Right… well, I guess you have a ride.” Yunho nodded in the direction of the black car. Its headlights were blinking, as always, in heavy disapproval and admonishment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hongjoong nodded and steeled himself, hopping down the steps quickly to get to it. 

He swung the door open and scrambled in. Upon closing it shut behind him, the car peeled out of the parking lot at extreme speed. His mother never once glanced back to check if he was alright before tossing out a “How many times did you replay the music today?” in lieu of a greeting.

Cold, distant, apathetic.

“A hundred,” Hongjoong huffed, wrapping his arms around himself defensively.

“Good.” There was a brief respite before she continued charging on. “You know, you could do so much more at home - I don’t understand why you would choose to stay back after classes.”

“Omma, we’ve been through this,” Hongjoong scowled, wariness turning into irritation. “I’m able to -”

“Concentrate better at school. I understand Hongjoong,” she returned with a snap, Hongjoong waiting in silence for the inevitable rebuttal. “ _But_ , we have a much better piano at home, and it’s perfectly quiet - I would imagine that to be a much more conducive environment!”

His hopes of keeping a genial conversation flowing for the rest of the ride home completely crushed, Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Omma. You can’t keep me locked up forever.” 

That drew a slight flinch from her, but it’s immediately washed away in the face of self-righteous anger. “I am not locking you up.” Keeping her hands on the wheel, she twisted around to address him, eyes flinty. It had him curling in on himself, shying away from the escalating confrontation. “I am just worried -”

The words were cut off by a sickening crunch, followed by the world tilting on its axis as the car swerves dangerously. Hongjoong’s litany of howled curses drowned out by the roaring of the horns and the heavy _thump, thump, thump_ of his beating heart.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath, but it did little to anchor him. Throat sore and hoarse from mindless yelling, he licked his chapped lips, and slowly opened his eyes to see complete wreckage. The front of the car was missing, torn off cleanly by, what he assumed, the oncoming truck that rested a few feet away.

“Omma,” he called weakly. Despite the ringing in his ears, and his left arm feeling numb to the bone, he untangled himself from the seatbelts, hands leaving bloody prints in their wake. 

Though he ached, and his throat was beyond the point of sore, bordering on painful, he still trudged through the shadows. “Omma!” The word comes out stronger this time, thanks to the desperation and panic.

Yet, all he got in reply was the chirp of crickets, unbothered and cruel, in the balmy night.

“Boy,” the other driver stumbled out of his truck, catching him by his wrist. “You need to sit down, you’re bleeding heavily from your head wound. I’ve called for the ambulance.”

Hongjoong tugged himself free, blood making it all the easier for him to slip out of the vice grip. “No, I have to find her.” He pushed forwards, legs protesting in pain. Not a second later, they gave out, and he fell face down in the dirt like a newborn foal. 

_Useless, useless, useless,_ he thought, sobs falling freely from his mouth now even as he crawled on, at a snail’s pace. “Omma!” He screamed again, praying that some high power listened to him and cut him some slack.

No such luck.

All he got was the faint rumble and the blare of alarms as the ambulance drew close, paramedics rushing in and hands tugging him and gently laying him out on the stretcher. “Please,” he whined, latching onto their uniforms. “Find her.”

* * *

And just like this, the world collapses, little by little.

Until all he saw was the deep inky darkness.

* * *

**Blue**

Hongjoong woke to tears.

As always his dreams refused to let him rest, as if he weren’t already tormented and plagued by memories at every waking moment. 

He clawed at his parched throat - he’d probably been whimpering the whole night - and managed to push himself up, reaching out blindly to the nightstand for a glass of water.

While he drank, the gulps greedy, he turned his attention to his phone. Like he expected, it lit up with notifications from his friend group as well as Twitter. Sighing, he set his glass down, snagging the device.

Time to face the chaos.

**You’re all dead to me**

**Yeosang:**

We thought that it was a good opportunity

**Jongho:**

Please text us back to let us know you’re safe

**Mingi:**

I was the one who suggested it

Please don’t blame the rest

**San:**

We didn’t expect Seonghwa to actually reach out

We’re sorry!!

**Wooyoung:**

It was such an old clip

And we didn’t think he’d notice

:((( please forgive us

**Hongjoong:**

It’s fine.

I’ll deal with it.

With that, he quickly exited the group chat, putting it on mute, but couldn’t quite dodge Yunho, who sent a private message his way.

**Yunho:**

They just meant well

**Hongjoong:**

I gave it up a long time ago, Yunho

I’m super rusty

It wouldn’t be fair

**Yunho:**

It’s a good opportunity

To get back into the scene

But not in a competitive way

You know?

**Hongjoong:**

Yes, but Seonghwa… He’s a stranger and doesn’t know what happened

He’d be expecting that Hongjoong

Not the current me

Who can barely make his way around a damn piano

**Yunho:**

Have you actually tried?

Hongjoong huffed. He loved his friends, he really does, but at times like these, he just wished that they’d let sleeping dogs lie. He ignored Yunho’s flurry of questions, turning his attention on Park Seonghwa instead, deciding it’ll be best to let him know as soon as possible.

Park Seonghwa

**@parkseonghwa**

Hey! I took a look at your clip and I thought you were great.  
Would you still be open to film a collab?

**@itskhj**

Hey, about that…

My friends replied to your tweet without my permission

I’m very sorry, but I would like to pass on it

And I’m sure that there are other people who would be very happy if you chose them instead!

Almost immediately, three little dots appeared on screen, much to Hongjoong’s amazement. He nibbled on his bottom lip while he waited - Seonghwa would just probably acknowledge that it was a mistake and they’d go on their happy, separate ways. No need for him to get entangled in Hongjoong’s mess of a life. 

Or so he thought.

**@parkseonghwa**

Oh, I see!

I think it’s a happy mistake since I got to find out about you

Invite’s still open, either way

I bet we’d get along swimmingly

He stared down at his phone, completely bamboozled by the fact that YouTube’s golden cover artist - the platform’s ‘It’ violinist - refused to take no for an answer. Stupid friends and their stupid trigger-happy fingers. And blast Park Seonghwa for his stupid casting call… Tweet?

**@itskhj**

That clip was from eons ago

I’m frankly not any good now

I’m sure you’ll find someone better in your mentions

**@parkseonghwa**

Nope, you were the best!

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Hongjoong cursed under his breath, pulling at his hair in frustration. Why is Park Seonghwa so adamant on getting Hongjoong to play piano accompaniment? Hongjoong wasn’t even someone famous, just a nameless nobody on a stupid blue bird app, for christ’s sake.

His phone buzzed with another notification.

**@parkseonghwa**

Please?

Damn it, Hongjoong could feel himself giving in. As much as he said he was better off without the stress of music, some inner part of him missed it as well. However, it didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t _play._

Sighing, he tossed his phone aside and dragged himself to the closet, deciding that it was best to ghost Seonghwa and get started on his day.

He had better things to do, like attend his economics lectures, for instance, instead of holding on to a far-fetched dream.

*******

“Hi Hongjoong, did you reply to Seonghwa?” Yunho asked without preamble, as he dropped into the cafeteria seat opposite.

Taking that as an opening, Wooyoung and San descended like the vultures they are, piping up with their own questions too. Hongjoong shot Yunho a betrayed look, to which the other responded with a smug shrug.

“I hate you,” he complained loudly, throwing his greens at Yunho’s face, who plucked it off with a disgusted frown. 

“I have no idea why you force yourself to eat that,” Yunho grouched, pointing at Hongjoong’s wilting salad for a second then seemed to think better of it, and backtracked quickly. “So? Seonghwa?” He prompted.

The terrible trio leaned into Hongjoong’s in anticipation. “Nothing, I turned him down.” Hongjoong commented, staring blankly at his kale. He should have gotten a coffee with that today.

“Hongjoong…” Yunho started.

“Don’t,” Hongjoong snapped warningly, bristling like an angry cat. “Leave it.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, refusing to quail in the face of Hongjoong’s rage. “You know, you can’t exactly lie to us, you admitted that you missed playing the piano when you were drunk off your ass and drunk you is a truthful you.” 

Yunho paused for a beat, then began, in a gentler tone: “Seonghwa wants a partner - hell, I’m sure he’s desperate because he even tweeted about it - and you’re looking to get back into the game… This is the perfect opportunity... I don’t understand why you’re not leaping at the chance!”

Hongjoong stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table. “There’s a fine line between dreaming that I’m good and being actually _good_ ,” he spit as he gathered up his stuff in a hurry. “And I’m sure _semi-professional violinist Park Seonghwa_ ,” he emphasised. “Wouldn’t appreciate me wasting his time.”

“Sit back down,” Yunho latched onto his flannel shirt, manhandling him back into place. Incensed, Hongjoong shot him the most aggrieved glare he could manage. “I’m not letting you take the easy way out this time, and you still have classes with me after lunch.”

“You want to know why I’m backing out?” Hongjoong lashed out, infuriated but defeated. “It’s not because I’m scared, but because every time I dare to sit on the bench and try to play I’m reminded of her. She haunts me. I freeze up. The sounds are drowned out and I’m stuck in a bottomless black pit. I speed up till the music becomes a hot mess, there’s _no_ way I can fucking play.”

San and Wooyoung look visibly shaken at his outburst, paling in discomfort. But Yunho… got up from his seat and walked to stand beside Hongjoong, looming over him. “I had an inkling that that was the case,” Yunho trailed off, dragging a hand through his hair. It fluffed up, making him look just a tad crazed. “Which is why I think talking to Seonghwa could help you - musician to musician.”

At that admission, Hongjoong’s anger immediately petered out. He gaped up at Yunho. It made sense, but... “You mean to say that you want me to use him?”

Yunho winced, looking discomfited. “Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound nice. I know that your story isn’t easy to share… but I think you should tell him - it doesn’t have to be the full story, just a little to let him get the gist of things?”

“I think it could be good for you,” San piped up, testing the waters. “Besides, it’s YouTube, there’s the power of editing.” He shot Hongjoong a watery smile.

“And what do you think, Wooyoung?” Hongjoong turned around to face the youngest. 

Wooyoung gulped nervously, but his answer was steady. “I think there’s no real harm in trying, and I’m sure the others would too.”

“... Okay.” Hongjoong agreed, hands going clammy. “I’ll try.”

*******

**@itskhj**

Hey, sorry for the late reply

I was thinking long and hard about it

Though I want to say yes, there’s something that you should know about first…

Could we possibly meet?

**@parkseonghwa**

Great!

Just name the time and place and I’ll be there

* * *

For the first time in a long while, Hongjoong dared to hope.

Although, he was still filled with a lingering sadness, oh so blue.

* * *

**Purple**

That’s how he found himself sitting in a cafe, nursing on an Americano and chewing on the straw on a Saturday morning.

He felt queasy. Telling a mere stranger about his background in blind hopes that said stranger will stick around long enough to help him? He snorted, crunching on ice. Seonghwa’d have to be a saint.

“Kim… Hongjoong?” Startled by the voice that came from behind him, Hongjoong jumped in his seat, his knee bumping into the marble table.

“Shit, ow -” Hongjoong cursed, blinded by pain.

“Shoot, I’m so sorry for startling you - are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Hongjoong opened his eyes to see a Park Seonghwa kneeling in front of him, looking equal parts contrite and concerned. 

Not exactly great for his heart, considering the distance between them… and how strikingly good-looking Seonghwa was. 

Well, Hongjoong had already known, but seeing Seonghwa on screen versus seeing him in person hit different. He wasn’t at all prepared at how the other made the interiors of the cafe space pale in comparison - and that’s saying something since the space was extremely beautiful, filled with plants and flowers of all shapes and sizes.

He leaned backwards to put some distance between him and Seonghwa, chair tilting dangerously. Before he could fall, Seonghwa closed the distance and steadied it.

Quickly, Hongjoong averted his eyes, taking a keen interest in the dried lavender that hung from the ceiling. 

“You know, I never pictured you as a clumsy person,” Seonghwa chuckled as he made himself comfy in the chair opposite Hongjoong’s. 

Hongjoong shrugged helplessly, sipping on his coffee with renewed vigour. Anything but talking seemed good right now. 

“Wow, you must be really thirsty,” Seonghwa commented, causing Hongjoong to choke. “Shit, sorry. Here.” He decanted water into a glass and handed it to Hongjoong. “Drink this. Slowly.”

The water burned going down, but at least Hongjoong stopped hacking a lung out.

“This is not how I imagined our first meeting to go,” Seonghwa chuckled weakly. “I don’t care for coffee, but do you want another glass of that? My treat, for everything that happened... earlier.” Before Hongjoong could say that it was no big deal, Seonghwa’d already flagged down a waiter and placed an order for a slice of cake plus Americano.

As the waiter puttered off, Seonghwa turned his attention back to Hongjoong. “So…” Seonghwa started, folding his napkin into a neat little square. “I just want to start off by saying that I’m here to listen to you today. If at any point, you decide not to do the collab, it’ll be completely fine - I’m not here to pressure you into a decision that you’re not ready to make.”

Hongjoong blinked, completely caught off guard. He’d never expected Seonghwa to give him so much leeway. “Uh…”

“Did I jump to the wrong conclusion? Oh my god,” Seonghwa rambled. “Sorry, it’s just that you sounded so serious over the phone and I thought that I was hounding you. By the way, I was serious about that, you can tell me to buzz off if I am crossing the line -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hongjoong said, holding up a hand. Seonghwa paused. “First of all, I agreed to this, so don’t worry, you’re not crossing any lines here. But. My story isn’t exactly dinner conversation… or in this case,” he eyed their surroundings. “Cafe conversation.”

“I’m already prepared for this,” Seonghwa responded gently, a kind smile plastered on his face. “To be perfectly honest, your friends did give me a quick rundown - don’t give me that look, they were just concerned. You have good people by your side.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hongjoong said gruffly. “So what did they tell you?”

“About you not being able to hear the music when you play,” Seonghwa replied, slowly. “But not why. They said that it wasn’t their story to tell.”

So he spilled, told Seonghwa all his dirty little secrets - how the piano became his cage, how his mother raged because of her depression, how he had to be perfect, how he cracked under the weight of overwhelming expectation, crashing and burning and losing the ability to hear on stage, no less.

Throughout it all, Seonghwa remained silent, expression drawn but betraying nothing. He clasped his fingers together and rested his elbows on the table as Hongjoong trailed to a stop.

“That’s about it,” Hongjoong concluded lamely. “Yunho, San and Wooyoung - my friends thought it would be a good opportunity to get back into the headspace by working with you. That’s why they replied to your tweet with an old clip of me playing… And although I would like to work through… my trauma,” Hongjoong said, eyes screwed tightly shut to shield himself. “I feel like I have to warn you that collabing with me… might be really slow-going.”

Seonghwa hummed, a contemplative sound. “Well, when do you want to get started?”

Shocked, Hongjoong’s eyes flew wide open. He gaped at Seonghwa openly. “What?”

“I’m not against helping,” Seonghwa answered casually, cutting into his slice of cake and bringing the fork to his mouth. “Besides, being the accompaniment could help you, and I’ll be leading so...”

“You… But… We’re strangers,” Hongjoong spluttered. He couldn’t believe that Park Seonghwa would give him the time of the day.

“I think it’s a fair exchange. When you regain your footing, I’ll get an excellent partner out of it,” Seonghwa said, waving his empty fork in the air. “Sometimes, the violin… just isn’t enough. So, what do you say?”

“When… not if?” Hongjoong asked, genuinely taken aback at Seonghwa’s confidence. 

“... I might’ve saw more of your old clips,” Seonghwa whispered, then continued with more conviction. “Your friends sent me more recordings. You have the skill, and I daresay you can claw your way back. However, your music...”

“Comes off a little robotic?” Hongjoong smiled humourlessly. “Yes, that’s the result of my mother’s incessant training too. She wanted me to stick only to the sheet, because how else would I be successful or win awards?”

That admission led to a lull in their conversation, Seonghwa seemingly at a loss for words for the first time, and Hongjoong reluctant to be the first to speak up.

Finally, Seonghwa exhaled, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Is it the way that _you_ … want to play?”

“Not really.” It stifled him actually... but it’s all that Hongjoong knew.

“Then… I think you could afford to be a little more ambitious,” Seonghwa challenged, leaning in close. From this distance, Hongjoong could almost count his eyelashes. He resisted the urge to do so and crossed his legs instead, taking a sip of coffee. “How does next Saturday sound? At my place, of course.”

Hongjoong nodded once, the movement almost imperceptible. “Perfect.”

* * *

Though the clouds of gloom still hovered, the conversation he had with Seonghwa put some fears to rest.

Like the tumultuous sea parting for an endless dusky purple sky, he’s more at peace than he’d ever been.

* * *

**Green**

Saturday brought with it an endless expanse of azure blue, undisturbed by clouds, and the sun beaming down brightly. 

Hongjoong stood outside Seonghwa’s home, unable to bring himself to knock, nerves catching up to him. This is completely out of familiar territory, and his hyperactive friends weren’t even with him to help break the ice.

Before he could bolt off though, Seonghwa opened his door, eyes narrowed in a squint against the sunrays. “Aren’t you going to come in?” Seonghwa asked, leaning on it to let Hongjoong pass, if only he wasn’t rooted to the spot.

“... Uh… Thanks.” He gestured towards the door faintly as he entered, afraid to touch anything. 

“Can I get you anything - water, tea or maybe a light snack?” Seonghwa asked, puttering off to the kitchen, Hongjoong drifting after him like a lost duckling.

“Erm,” Hongjoong coughed into the palm of his hand. “Water would be great, thanks.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, and cast a look around at the interiors of Seonghwa’s place. 

Honestly, for a guy making what must be huge bank on YouTube, Seonghwa lived pretty humbly; there were the essentials like a TV, sofa, and a couple of throw pillows, but the decor was pretty sparse. Still, there was an air of cosiness that made it seem very lived-in.

Which was already more than Hongjoong could say about his own place.

“Here, I got us a tray.” And sure enough, Seonghwa was balancing one that’s laden with snacks as well as two cups of water. At Hongjoong’s questioning glance, Seonghwa responded with a simple “In case we get peckish” and ushered Hongjoong into his recording studio.

It’s messier in the studio, what with the music sheets scattered about, but Hongjoong doesn’t really care, homing in on the grand piano seated in the middle of the room. While Seonghwa settled the tray on a nearby table, he made his way to the instrument as if entranced.

Which he was in a way, he supposed. He forgot what it felt like to touch one that wasn’t dusty with disuse, and, most importantly, tuned. He pressed down gently on a key warily, the note hanging in the air.

Seonghwa coughed lightly to get his attention. “Would you like to give it a whirl… or would you like me to start first?” He said, pointing to the violin sitting beside, dwarfed by the piano.

“I think… you should start first,” Hongjoong said, twiddling his thumbs. “Just so I can get a feel for things and… get acquainted with how you play.”

“Right.” Seonghwa agreed and fetched his violin out of the case. Hongjoong made himself comfortable on the piano bench, watching the other tune his violin first then tuck it under his chin.

Hongjoong’s pulse quietened the moment the bow met strings, understanding washing over him like a tidal wave - while the violin took centre stage for Saint-Saëns’ Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso, it was a playful piece, meant to be a push-and-pull between two instruments.

Like an open conversation.

Hongjoong gulped, uncertainty clouding his vision. Seonghwa’s a _terrific_ violinist - which Hongjoong never doubted for a second - but watching his fingers dance, ripping and rending and then mending the music to make it wholly his own...

Of all the things Hongjoong expected to feel, envy was never one of them.

But as he stared at Seonghwa playing the violin effortlessly, the little monster reared its head. 

Some part of him wanted to have that too, but with the piano. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

The minutes flew by in a flash, Hongjoong didn’t even notice that Seonghwa was done - only snapping to when he addressed him quietly. “So… What do you think?”

“What do I think - what do _I think_?” Hongjoong repeated, awe-struck. “I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with you. Are you sure you don’t want to pick someone else?”

Seonghwa laughed, tilting his head at an angle to stare at Hongjoong curiously. “That was me trying to match your standard.”

“You mean past me’s standard,” Hongjoong said matter-of-factly, tapping his fingers mindlessly on the bench. 

Seonghwa’s nose scrunched. It was a cute sight, boop-able almost. Hongjoong filed that thought away into the recesses of his mind, to be dissected later when he’s safely tucked away in his own bed. He had a glaring issue to solve first. “You won’t get that from me now.”

He watched warily as Seonghwa put his violin down and marched over, intent on closing the gap. “No. No more self-deprecating talk, I won’t allow it. Besides, you wouldn’t know the outcome if you never put yourself out there. And that means embracing failure too, whether you like it or not.” Seonghwa finished sternly, arms crossed above him.

Looking every inch like an angry pre-school teacher. Hongjoong snorted, while Seonghwa looked on, bewildered at the change in attitude. “Sorry,” he wheezed. “You look like a put-out tutor.”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Seonghwa said, hiding his smile behind his hand. They shared a look, broken only when Hongjoong awkwardly shifted away to face the piano. “Should I give it a try?” He prompted, heart squeezing.

“I suppose so,” Seonghwa responded, settling down on a pouffe. He sounded a little disappointed, but why would he be? It’s not like Hongjoong had much to offer.

The pianist shook his head and started, fingers unsure and shaky, but he still made it through the first section with minimal mistakes.

Only when it started picking up, he felt the familiar sensation of being watched, and his fingers sped up till they became a blur on the keys, harmony melting into dissonance.

Seonghwa stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, drawing him out of his cage that he’d locked himself in. “Hey, hey,” Seonghwa gentled, when Hongjoong rounded on him, eyes wide and crazed. “You’re okay. Breathe with me.”

Lost, Hongjoong could barely make out the words, spiralling, breath coming out in quick pants. In a last ditch attempt to reach him, Seonghwa squeezed himself on the bench and drew him into a hug. “Concentrate Hongjoong. Please.”

Surrounded by warmth, and Seonghwa’s steady inhale-exhale, Hongjoong calms, but the process of coming back to reality was a slow-going one. Yet the violinist never shifted away, waiting patiently with his arms wrapped around Hongjoong until the shivers pass, and his breath less ragged.

“Thanks,” Hongjoong said, disentangling himself and scooting backwards, not that the compact seat offered much room. “Sorry you… had to see that, it’s been awhile.”

Seonghwa stared at him, expression neutral. Hongjoong bit his lip nervously - was this the part where Seonghwa tosses him out?

“I think…” Hongjoong closed his eyes, slumping backwards in defeat. “That we should stop here for today,” Seonghwa whispered, as if speaking too loudly after Hongjoong’s panic attack would trigger another one.

Hongjoong froze in place. “Sorry…” He apologised. “I shouldn’t have wasted your time at all.”

“No, you’re misunderstanding me again,” Seonghwa said, standing and handing Hongjoong the glass of water from the snack tray. Hongjoong drank in small sips while Seonghwa stood off to his side, a contemplative guardian. “I don’t think that we should push too hard too fast. The fact that you were able to play the first section was already progress in and of itself.”

Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa, skepticism crystal clear on his face. “Really,” Seonghwa assuaged. 

“But how many times would this happen? How many times do I have to get it wrong until I get it _right_?” Hongjoong complained loudly, tearing at his hair.

“Question is - why are you rushing?” Seonghwa asked, bending till he squatted at eye-level with Hongjoong. “We have plenty of time in the world to practice until you get there. Plus, your friends seem sure that you can do it, if the amount of notifications you’ve gotten in the last few seconds are any indication.” Seonghwa said, gesturing at the phone where it’d been going off insistently.

Curiosity piqued, Hongjoong dug through his pocket to get to his mobile. He hadn’t told anyone that he was having his first practice session with Seonghwa today, so he wondered how the word got out, pausing to read through the flurry of excited texts.

**You’re all dead to me**

**Yunho:**

You met up with Seonghwa?

**San:**

Why didn’t you say anything? :((

**Mingi:**

Live updates please

**Jongho:**

Let me know if he bullies you

I’ll beat him up

**Hongjoong:**

Wait, nobody is beating anyone up

How did you guys know I’m with Seonghwa

**Yeosang:**

He tweeted about it 

Told his fans to wait

Said that there’s something in the works

**Wooyoung:**

Was all mysterious about it too

Could you give us a hint

Please???

Feeling like he got clubbed over the head with a hammer, Hongjoong quickly did a search on Twitter. It didn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for - a vague tweet with a picture of himself attached, back facing the camera.

**@parkseonghwa**

A friend and I are working on something, can you guess what it is?

It had over thousands of retweets and likes, and the replies were filled with encouraging comments.

“So,” Seonghwa said when Hongjoong glanced back up at him. “Do you still feel like giving up now?”

* * *

Just as easily, jealousy was replaced by determination.

He’d be bold and endure, burning like an eternal flame.

* * *

**Orange**

“Let’s take it from the top once more,” Seonghwa said, pressing on the record button. “I think we’re close to getting it right.”

Yet again.

About a month had passed since Hongjoong made the tough decision to continue with the sessions. At Seonghwa’s insistence to film it all in one-shot (“Think about how fulfilling that will feel - the real deal without editing!”), their practices were increasing in frequency. However, his progress during said meetups was snail’s pace, in Hongjoong’s opinion, at best.

Despite it all, there was no sense of dread or stress. No late nights, no secret tears. The piano didn’t look like a monster, just… harmless.

Hongjoong’s completely baffled at the thought.

Was it always so easy to play?

Had music always been so easy to fall into?

The more he tries, the easier it becomes. It’s as if the figurative claws on his heart were loosening, his scars healing bit by bit.

_She_ barely showed up too.

Instead, the images are replaced by encouraging smiles Seonghwa shoots his way after a blunder, and even kinder words. 

Hongjoong’s eyes burned as the song comes to an end. This time, he’s sure that they got it. And judging by Seonghwa’s pleased hum, he thinks so too.

“How was it?” He asked, voice thick with emotion. It’s hard to describe, to find the words that will encompass what he’s feeling.

“Great!” Seonghwa chirped back, flitting to and fro as he transferred the SD card to his desktop for editing. “I have no doubt that it’ll be a hit.” He grinned at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong scratched at his cheek. “... But it’s been about a month since you made the announcement… Do you think that anyone’s still interested?”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa admonished, gently, even as he stared at his desktop, unblinking. “It doesn’t matter. You had fun. I had fun. We worked on this cover for a long time, this is the fruit of our efforts. Most importantly, you were able to play it in full,” Seonghwa got up, sauntering to where Hongjoong was still seated on the bench. “Wouldn’t you say that that’s an accomplishment in and of itself?”

“... Yes,” Hongjoong admitted, feeling a familiar warmth settle in his chest and cheeks. To stop Seonghwa from taking notice, he tucked his chin into his turtleneck. 

Seonghwa dropped to the floor beside the piano. From this angle, Hongjoong could count the number of lashes that framed Seonghwa’s eyes. “Question is, what do you want to do now that we’re done?”

“Huh?” Hongjoong asked, perturbed. He worried his lip. Why would Seonghwa dump him now? “Didn’t you want to make me your permanent piano accompaniment or whatever?”

“Of course!” Seonghwa gasped, pressing a hand into his chest in mock affront. “You’re never getting rid of me that easily… I just meant if you ever thought of, I don’t know, getting back into competing.”

The air left Hongjoong in a whoosh, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Oh, that... I’m not sure, it took a lot to get here, much less to get me to where I have to be competition-ready. At least I have retakes here,” he sighed, plucking at random keys.

“And if we can get you competition-ready?” Seonghwa asked, a mysterious glint in his eyes.

He looked at Seonghwa in suspicion. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” Seonghwa beamed back, angelic. But Hongjoong knew better than to fall for his pretense.

Hongjoong bent down, sticking his face in Seonghwa’s. “What did you do?”

“Hongjoong.”

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong said, using his best puppy eyes on him. “Please.”

Seonghwa clasped Hongjoong’s hands in his own. “Okay, don’t freak out.”

“A little too late for that, don’t you think?” Hongjoong fired back, but didn’t move away, his cool hands warming under Seonghwa’s touch.

“I’m planning to busk out on the streets, and I was hoping that you’d join me, on keyboard.” At Hongjoong’s disbelieving stare, Seonghwa hurried. “For one song. Just one. You can even wear a mask if you feel uncomfortable.”

Hongjoong drew back, tilting his face away. “And if I say no?”

“I won’t force you,” Seonghwa said without delay. “It’s your choice to make.”

He curled him on himself - well, as best as he could since Seonghwa was still grasping onto his hands. “Why… do you think I’m ready?”

“I feel like you have no faith in me at all, in what I’m hearing, what I’m seeing,” Seonghwa whined.

Hongjoong snorted, derision apparent. “You’re biased, you’ve always been.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrowed, lips drawn in a frown. “No I’m not, and I’m sure your friends will back me up.”

“They don’t count, they’re equally starstruck, Yunho especially.” Hongjoong waved his argument off.

“Then what would you say if my fans thought you were great?” Seonghwa shot back

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that they’d take notice of me, when they have a whole you to stare at. In high-definition.”

“I swear, you’re so wrong,” Seonghwa rebutted hotly, letting go to dust his pants off. “I’ll upload it now and prove it to you.”

“Sure, but you can’t draw attention to me in your tweet or video description or whatever,” Hongjoong called back. Looks like he’ll be spending some time cooped up at Seonghwa’s then, if he’s already preparing to edit the video.

“I won’t!” Seonghwa countered stubbornly. “In fact, the only thing I’ll do is add a black and white filter, and…” He mashed buttons, mouse clicking furiously. “Here. It’s already exporting and once that’s done, it’s going online.”

Hongjoong hummed, unwilling to make the short trek to Seonghwa. He heard an angry huff come from the violinist, and smirked secretly into the palm of his hand. Seonghwa was working himself into a tizzy for no reason, and Hongjoong would get the last laugh.

* * *

But, of course, fate loved toying with him.

Seonghwa proved him wrong in the end, gloating about all the comments on “the handsome pianist boy”.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry, happy that Seonghwa was too.

* * *

**Yellow**

Hongjoong didn’t think that a huge crowd would turn up - classical music is kind of niche anyway, but boy did he underestimate Seonghwa’s sway on his audience.

“Seonghwa…” He called, shuffling and tugging his scarf higher. It was a warm summer’s day out, he was sweating, but couldn’t find it in himself to leave the safety of anonymity.

(Shit, he friends were right, he’s a goddamn turtle, shying away into the comforts of its shell when things get too inconvenient.)

Seonghwa turned around, in the middle of unpacking. “Yes?”

“Why are there so many people?” Hongjoong’s breath comes out in short bursts, not stifled by the scarf, but rather because he’s spooked at the thought of performing in front of a crowd. He had only expected a handful of people, and what he saw… wasn’t a handful of people.

“Because it’s music. Because they wanted to hear us play. For them.” Seonghwa said simply, going back to his tedious task of drawing the keyboard out of its case. “Remember, if at any point in time, you feel like you’ve crossed your limit… you can stop.” He looked up from where he was bent over, studying Hongjoong carefully.

Hongjoong picked at a fraying thread on his scarf. He was nervous, but under that, there was a tiniest trace of excitement too. Perhaps he really was ready to shake things off. 

But to do that, he had to play to find out.

He swallowed the fear, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. “No, I’m fine.”

Seonghwa broke out into a grin. “Good, now help me set things up so we can give these people a show.”

Hongjoong grabbed the keyboard, set it on the stand, and got started on plugging it into the stereo. The moment he tried testing it out, the people milling about pressed in tighter, encircling them.

He closed his eyes, heart pounding, hands sweaty. Just like they practiced at Seonghwa’s studio, only live right? No big deal. It’s not even a competition.

Not yet anyway.

These people were less likely to judge them too, just here to be entertained for a short while.

Perhaps, it’d bring them a simple joy.

While Hongjoong was fixated on the idea, Seonghwa starts. The chatter falls into the background as the tune swells. Like the pied piper, Seonghwa lures, and Hongjoong follows, spellbound. It’s a familiar tango and his fingers find the keys easily.

As they continued, the audience became secondary, and the music the main focus. He vaguely wondered if he was on the beat, but that thought was quickly swept away with the drag of the bow on string.

Funny how it all kept coming back to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa who never stopped reaching out a helping hand. Seonghwa who never blinked an eye when Hongjoong failed. Seonghwa who’s surrounded by, loved and breathed music. 

Seonghwa who twinkled and sparkled, like the loveliest gem placed under a spotlight.

It was only fair for him to be on stage, Hongjoong supposed. Not many people can resist Seonghwa’s pull, oh so magnetic.

Something in him shifted just then, and it showed in the way the music changes, the melody becoming almost joyful, just bordering on sweet.

He opened his eyes and caught the moment Seonghwa shifts, eyes locking on him.

Like usual, Hongjoong shied, hiding behind his mending heart, music sheets and keys. He peered again, but Seonghwa was no longer looking at him, a small, delicate smile stretched on his lips instead.

And somehow, Hongjoong’s own lips tugged upwards, mirroring Seonghwa’s.

It was just mere minutes but it was enough. As it all drew to a close, Hongjoong yanked at his scarf. 

And all he remembered was Seonghwa’s cute little cheer, scarf and everything else in between forgotten. 

*******

Hongjoong jumped as a cold water bottle was pressed to his cheek.

“Here,” Seonghwa offered, dropping to the empty spot next to him. “Didn’t expect that we’d be here the entire day. Sorry.”

The both of them watched as the sun sunk low over the horizon, painting the sky an amazing shade of yellow-orange-purple. It reminded Hongjoong of their performance. Melancholic, hopeful and enduring.

“Don’t apologise,” Hongjoong said, in between gulps.

“So… what did you think?” Seonghwa asked, resting his chin on his knees. 

He must be uncomfortable all curled up like this, Hongjoong thought, as he stretched his legs out, hands resting behind his back. “I don’t think… anything.”

Seonghwa snorted, scooching over to poke Hongjoong in his sides. Hongjoong swatted back, pouting. “How deep.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong groaned. The sky is rapidly darkening now, stars starting their dance. “Something shifted. I don’t know what or how, but it did. It’s like a weight off my shoulders almost.” He looked back down at his laces.

“That’s good,” Seonghwa said, resting his head on Hongjoong’s shoulders. Just this simple act was enough to ground Hongjoong.

“I’m happy, I think,” Hongjoong muttered into the night air as if it’d keep a secret.

“I know.” Seonghwa reached up and patted at his hair.

“I think…” Hongjoong paused, knowing that the next words just might change everything for him. Seonghwa stilled. “I might be ready to try… Competitively, I mean.”

There was no movement for a beat. Hongjoong bit his lip. Maybe it was too soon. But before he could take his words back, Seonghwa leapt up, dragging Hongjoong along with him. They spun around for a bit, and Hongjoong’s world tilts, going in and out of focus.

“Stop!” He complained, dizzy. “Seonghwa, I’m going to puke if you keep this up.”

At his warning, Seonghwa laid off. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, maybe, I don’t know,” Hongjoong babbled. “I probably need further practice...”

“I’ll help you, you know I will.” The words Seonghwa uttered like an unbreakable promise.

Hongjoong breathed, the last of the shackles coming loose. “Yeah.”

* * *

Happiness really was a fleeting thing.

As quick as it went, it’d soon return as Hongjoong found out.

One final push.

And if he was lucky, he’d stick the landing too.

* * *

**Red**

He doesn’t see red. Rather, he felt it creeping along the edges, barely noticeable, quiet, content, as if biding time to make itself known.

And boy, did it make itself _known_ in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible, right before his competition - the first one after years of hiding away, unable to brave the skeletons in his closet.

The people milling around the concert hall foyer stilled at the sight of his face, and that was enough to make Hongjoong hesitate, to question his decision about returning to the scene. He’s about to bolt, heart beating out of his chest, when Seonghwa’s hands clamped down on his. “Hey, calm down.”

Hongjoong stared at him with wide eyes, worry and shame etched in every corner of his face. “Calm down?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “I haven’t shown my face here in years - and they still remember me, plus the fact that I bombed my last competition!”

“So what?” Seonghwa raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. “Are you just going to let them scare you off?”

“You can’t possibly know what I’m feeling right now,” he hurled back, hands pulling at his tie. If it’s one thing he didn’t miss, it was the formal attire - damned things always made it harder to breathe.

“Don’t I? I was there Hongjoong, I watched you pick up the pieces, and helped you when you fell apart. So, I’ll just say this: You deserve your time to shine,” Seonghwa reminded him carefully, moving to straighten out Hongjoong’s suit. Once he’s done dusting, he proffered an arm out. “Showtime?”

“Mind you, I was fine where I am and you just had to come looking,” Hongjoong griped, latching on. Together, the two of them made their way to the registration booth. “You nosy bastard, you so owe me -”

“Yes, yes.” Despite the placating tone, Seonghwa rolled his eyes at Hongjoong’s dramatics. “You were perfectly fine wallowing and _wasting_ ,” he emphasised that with a tiny pinch on the pianist’s hand. “All that talent away.”

“Ow!” Hongjoong swatted at him in retaliation. “I have a _competition,_ you ass!”

“I didn’t put much force into it, you giant baby,” Seonghwa smirked like the cat that ate the canary. “Besides, weren’t you dropping out?”

Hongjoong grumbled under his breath, a string of words too fast to catch. Seonghwa, still set on teasing him, continued to press his buttons. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I am not dropping out. There, you happy now?” Hongjoong groused. 

“Yes.” The fondness lacing through the reply made Hongjoong’s steps falter for a beat. Sensing the change in his mood, Seonghwa stopped, still keeping their arms locked together, and looked back at him in concern. “Hongjoong?”

“Nothing.” Though Hongjoong brushed it off, his voice was slightly thicker than normal, betraying his emotions. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried again. “It’s nothing.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, snapping it shut and settled on patting his right hand instead, much to Hongjoong’s amusement. 

“Right,” Hongjoong said, straightening up and resuming their march to the booth, steeling himself. “I’ll see you after?”

“I’ll be in the crowd, cheering you on, as I always do,” Seonghwa murmured, drawing patterns on Hongjoong’s hand. “Oh yes, Yunho, San, Wooyoung and the rest are here too.”

“What?” Hongjoong squawked, the protest echoing around the foyer, loud enough to draw stares from the congregation of people. “You said it was going to be just you,” he hissed quietly, dragging Seonghwa into a secluded corridor. “When did they get involved?”

“Well, I was planning on keeping it a secret,” Seonghwa said, holding his hands up in surrender. “But, Wooyoung saw our texts and insisted. Then… the information just… got out?” He winced in apology. “You know how Wooyoung is. Besides, they’re already here, you can’t chase them out.”

“Okay?” Hongjoong replied helplessly. “But just so you know when I crash and burn on the stage -”

“Hongjoong.” The seriousness in Seonghwa’s voice gave Hongjoong pause, his eyes blackened coals, intense, searing and determined. Grounding. “You. Will. Do. Fine. You practiced hard. Don’t let the fear overtake you. Not now. Not when you spent so much time rebuilding.”

Hongjoong exhaled heavily, scratching his scalp. “Performing in front of a crowd of individuals who are discerning… It's very different from YouTube videos and busking, Seonghwa. I won’t… exactly know until I’m under the limelight.”

“I have utmost faith in you.” As if that settled things, Seonghwa about-turned and yanked Hongjoong to get him registered, completely oblivious to the fact that those six little words just about rocked Hongjoong’s world.

*******

Between the warm spotlight and dozens of eyes trained on him, some familiar, some not, Hongjoong feels like he’s going to hurl.

And won’t that be a sight to see, musical genius, Kim Hongjoong, spewing his guts out because it’s his first performance back after years of hiatus. 

He gulped miserably as he cast a quick glance at the crowd, looking for Seonghwa’s familiar but handsome mug, who sent him a thumbs up and a smile his way.

And, just like that, Hongjoong’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason. He huffed, fought to keep the blush away from his face, sat down on the bench with a plop and cracked his fingers.

He took a breath, and let his fingers trail delicately over the keys, the first trills of Kreisler’s Liebesfreud making itself known. And while it brought back the feelings of abject misery of the abuse he suffered through, Hongjoong also recounted the first moments, the bright, white happy memory of that summer’s day.

Where his mother was happy. When he learned to play his first notes.

As he made his way through the piece, his hands pressed down with more certainty, confidence bleeding in. Instead of tethering him down, the notes soar, bursting forth and taking on a new life. 

At the sadder bits, he slowed down, let himself grieve a little for both the things he’d lost and been through. In turn, the melody turned more forlorn, mellowing out from a steady joyful beat to a tune that was oh-so bittersweet.

A poetic contrast, but still so wholly him. He let himself get washed away in the endless blue, then opened his eyes to see Seonghwa’s boring into his own.

Slowly, but surely, the sea that he was drowning in parted for new colours, shades of purple, orange, green, yellow and then red. 

The reality hit like a ton of bricks. Hongjoong was, _and has been_ , in love for awhile now. With the one and only nosy, irritating and infinitely charming, Park Seonghwa.

It all came full circle, and the music changed yet again, becoming an entirely different beast altogether, tugging at heartstrings and always on beat.

And all too soon, it drew to a close. The last notes bidding a fond farewell, and Hongjoong… Hongjoong’s overwhelmed and at a loss for words. The weight’s entirely gone, the piano no longer a monster, and… 

He feels free.

Hongjoong blinked, there was a beat of silence, and the whole audience erupts in claps, his group of friends being the loudest.

Those supportive bastards, who always believed in him even when his confidence wavered. He stood, wiped away a stray tear discreetly (though he had no idea if he was successful on that front considering the amount of people staring right at him), bowed and made a brisk exit.

Not that he didn’t want to bask in the moment per se, he just had a dire need to hug a specific someone right now, and it’s the only thing driving him forward - otherwise, his jelly legs would’ve given out on him a long time ago.

And it seemed that Seonghwa had the same idea, already standing outside the waiting room, with hands clasped behind his back. Hongjoong stopped in his tracks, watching Seonghwa intently as the other pushed away from the wall to unveil... a single red rose.

“Hi,” Seonghwa greeted, albeit shyly, uncertainty in his eyes. “You were amazing out there… Uh... This is for you.” He pushed the flower into Hongjoong’s waiting hands. “It means what it means… not that you have to return my feelings or -”

Seonghwa’s words cut off abruptly with a tiny ‘oomph!’ as Hongjoong flung himself into his arms. “ _Idiot_ ,” he breathed as he nuzzled into Seonghwa’s neck. “You’re an idiot, Park Seonghwa.” 

“Sorry?” Seonghwa pulled away a little, looking put-out and crestfallen despite his best attempts at nonchalance. “Like I said, you -”

“ _No_ , no, no,” Hongjoong said, clinging on to Seonghwa’s blazer sleeve. “It’s not a rejection.” He blurted, looking up at Seonghwa with sparkling eyes. “Far from it - how could you even jump straight to that conclusion?”

Seonghwa opened his mouth in indignation. “Excuse me for being -”

“Okay, wait, listen to me,” Hongjoong shushed him. “It’s not a rejection, and you are _not_ pressuring me into an answer. I came to it myself. Just mere moments ago, in fact,” Hongjoong let out an incredulous laugh. “I. Am. In. Love. With. You.”

Seonghwa looked shell-shocked at his straightforward confession. Hongjoong resisted the urge to laugh, and continued: “Look, the amount of things you’ve done for me? I can’t even count with both my hands. From reaching out first, to helping me heal? Not many people would have done that. _How could I not return your feelings?_ ” His voice broke towards the end, but he’s far past the point of caring, only wanting Seonghwa to understand.

“You have me,” Seonghwa confessed, helplessly. “Always.”

“I know.” Hongjoong smiled, stepping close. His hand drifted up to Seonghwa’s cheek in a light caress, heart melting as Seonghwa pressed a kiss to his palm, then swooped in to plant a peck on his cheek. 

It’s feather-light, but Hongjoong feels his cheeks warm. To hide the fact, he lunged and grabbed Seonghwa by the neck, tugging him down into a proper kiss.

Well, it was more of a meeting of lips, but they were still at the concert hall so sue him.

There was a cough, and they flew apart. “Wow, we left you for five minutes, and you guys couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves, huh?” Wooyoung teased, bouncing forward, the rest of their friends looking sheepishly on in the background. “So, what… are you guys like dating now?”

Seonghwa looked over at Hongjoong, and his heart had never felt so full, and the world no longer a monotonous black and white, but one filled with colour and life.

“Yeah, we are,” he answered simply.

Things were finally looking up.

**Author's Note:**

> (I tried something different this time?)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to yell at me in the comments and kudos are always appreciated ❤️
> 
> (You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/joongles_) too)


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